


Beast Within

by FancyLadySnackCakes



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Anal Fingering, Dubious Consent, F/M, Hate Sex, Rough Sex, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-06
Updated: 2016-08-06
Packaged: 2018-07-28 16:19:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7648006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancyLadySnackCakes/pseuds/FancyLadySnackCakes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He may be the Dragonborn but that doesn't mean Lydia has to like him - it does, however, mean she has to serve him in any way she can manage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beast Within

**Middas, 12th day of Rain's Hand,**

 

The Dragonborn: now that was a topic she loathed to discuss with anyone, no matter how eager, innocent, or demanding the persuading individual was. It wasn't that she felt discussing her Thane's traits and tribulations were inappropriate, or that answering questions was somehow insulting when she knew little about him in the first place, it was just that she didn't care much for the beast at all.

 

The Dragonborn - a sharp toothed, swearing orc that snored as loud as any actual Dragon – was not someone she really enjoyed serving...let alone talking about on her own time.

 

Lydia turned a stern lipped glare from the latest fan – a bosomy redhead with freckles that went farther than any passerby should know – to catch her Thane arguing with a pale looking Breton shopkeep. If she could say anything about the Dragonborn it was that, very rarely, did they ever have to do more than say a few curt words to get a better deal or a fresher batch of apples.

 

“Do you think you could give this to him for me?” the bosomy woman hadn't left, despite how obvious Lydia had made her displeasure. No, she would not be her Thane's letter carrier...nor his matchmaker.

 

“He is capable of receiving his own gifts, ma'am,” she bit out with barely a handle on her own tone. The very fact that her Thane had female admirers at all given his race and constant toothed scowl seemed insulting, and added to the fact that each one thought it appropriate to hand her the letters of affection first was just insult to injury. For all they knew she was...no, never mind that train of thought.

 

When the woman didn't move, Lydia simply crossed her arms, took a simple breath and turned around – it was a better solution than allowing her own sudden lust for violence to take hold of an unarmed common woman.

 

“...excuse me,” Lydia heard the suddenly small nervous chortle of the woman followed by the distinct sound of her Thane turning in the heavy Orichalcum armor. She pursed her lips in the early Riften sun as she listened to the short altercation of gruff Orc and nervous admirer. All the woman got was a grunt and if she'd been lucky a smirk on that lethal mouth of his.

 

There was a muted 'good luck' and the woman left with a flutter in her step that turned Lydia's stomach despite it all. She gave a sighing grumble and turned to see her Thane turning the letter in his hand as if he hadn't received a dozen others like it before. After a moment too long, he stuffed it in a satchel strapped to his hip with a heavy grunt.

 

“I don't approve of this man's meat,” he groused in that thick, guttural tone that somehow made some women weak at the knees. Lydia nearly smirked as the shopkeep behind him blanched at her Thane's loud comment.

 

“Take these.”

 

She sneered as he filled her arms with an assortment of hearty foods: apples, mountain bread, cheese, and nut treats hard with cold molasses. The food made her stomach growl audibly, regardless of how she'd kept her hunger to herself lately.

 

“I don't trust this place. We'll camp when we grow tired or the sun falls,” he declared to the cloudless sky, sparing her one glance before something in his gaze grew light, “I'll kill us a proper meal while we travel. Let us grab some stew before we leave...” that one blind eye of his narrowed at her stony expression, “...or would you rather starve, woman?” 

 

The blood left her lips as they thinned; her arms still filled with food like a sodden pack mule, “I would be 'grateful' for a hot meal, my Thane.”

 

His official title always annoyed him, so she used it as often as possible. His resounding grumble of distaste as she gave the barest of wry smirks was the only pleasure she got from serving him so faithfully. It wasn't often that he didn't remind her of a brutal beast, but the way his expression fell for the shortest second at her triumphant look was unfathomably Nord-like in its exhaustion. This wasn't even the first time she'd seen the odd look crossing his ugly face...and the way it made her gut itch hadn't changed since the last time either.

 

“Let us be going then,” he mumbled through that mouthful of daggers he called tusks.

 

The meal they ate was hearty but bland. The tavern wench that owned the place knew of her Thane despite the fact that Lydia had never seen her before. She – with thick golden hair, a fair complexion, and light age worn into her eyes wasn't as shy about her intentions when she'd plucked up their empty bowls, bending down deep to expose the heavy dip of her bodice.

 

Lydia turned away with her chin in a gloved palm as the Dragonborn eyed the exposed flesh with a thorny eyebrow raised. The fact that he didn't act upon the offers, or that he had yet to act like many a man would when given such a blatant show didn't help her own irritation at how often women seemed drawn to him. An orc should not have had so many Nord women (respectable or not) straining for a beast's affections so. There were many Nords with the same wide shoulders and thick chest. With the same sword skills and perception...there were even some with the voice, like Ulfric Stormcloak. Though – Lydia turned to stare at her Thane as he marked symbols upon their map idly – no man had all those traits and more under a mask of iron green skin, sharp teeth, and a nasty glare.

 

His brow was furrowed with those pointed spikes making him look even less appealing than she assumed the latest woman thought. Every so often she'd catch his eyes turned to the tavern wench with an interest she'd not yet seen in all the months they'd been together. Was that...lust? Since that day in the Jarl's court she'd not been away from his side...and in that time she'd never seen him look twice at a woman, nor a man...and now. Something heated and insulting soured Lydia's stomach as her Thane whipped off the dribbling quill, capped the ink pot and rolled up their map.

 

“I'm going to rut with the wench.”

 

She nearly didn't hear the whole statement – it wasn't a question, a ponder, or anything else but a damned statement, as if letting her know served the only purpose of making sure she didn't follow him. Her lips thinned again into a scowl and she hated herself for how her cheeks started to burn as he gave her that petulant look a father gave to a troublesome child; a teacher gave to a bad student or a noble gave to a street rat.

 

Lydia stared at the table top – at its stains and worn threads of wood that stood up threatening to bury inside any unsuspecting person. He obscenely unbuckled the belts around his waist, dropping the satchel and side dagger in front of her uncomfortable gaze. It wasn't even as though she was unused to this sort of situation. The men she trained with, spent her time with as an underling did this more often than they bathed sometimes...so her sudden embarrassment as her Thane gave a grunt at the last belt he laid upon the table, was annoying.

 

He didn't even tell her to wait, just assumed she'd stay where she was...which she was bound to. It took a sordid amount of willpower to not watch him as he left the table, and that willpower was something she realized she didn't have.

 

His thick, tall frame nearly dwarfed the blonde Nord, as it did with most women and some men. A look not unlike victory crossed the woman's face before she was seized by the arm by her Thane's gloved hand. The excited look never left the woman's face even as he herded her into the back room with nary an uttered word. The door slammed shut and a muffled giggle was the last thing she heard before a disgusted girl came to sit herself behind the counter; an expression on her face that mimicked Lydia's earlier look. If the girl's tired sigh was anything to go by, this wasn't the first time she'd had to take over duty while her 'higher up' enjoyed certain pleasures.

 

For twenty minutes Lydia sat in her chair; a common table knife gripped tight in her right hand as the muffled but still audible sounds of lovemaking found her traitorously seeking ears. After all this time he'd never given into any of the advances she'd witnessed. It had always been the two of them skulking through ruins, sneaking past encampments and arguing about the details of the journey. When he got stuck with an arrow it was her that removed it with a well-placed insult. If he grew frustrated with reading their weathered map then it was her that snatched it from his hands to set a proper course. At the end of the day, it was just the both of them to watch the others back for danger.

 

At some point, she had stopped serving him, and they had served each other day by day – not that it had improved her attitude towards him until now...now that she had to listen to her Thane indulge in baser instincts she'd almost forgotten he could succumb to. Something about it forced her ideal of him to shift, though if that shift was productive or not she couldn't be certain.

 

Her luck always had been miffed in displeasure – perhaps this was another one of those moments where what she had seen as a burden was less of one than she'd thought.

 

A brief respite of tension had started to leave her body while her thoughts ran, but that was short lived as the door her Thane had disappeared behind slammed open, exposing the Dragonborn as dressed and brutal as when he'd entered. She ignored the slight sheen of sweat on his brow though as he reached their table with a heavy exhale, much like a wild boar in the cold morn.

 

“My Thane,” she said with teeth together. He spared her a short look before going about the sluggish business of strapping his belts back around his waist – it only brought back her previous ire. The way he slung the buckles noisily, gave a grunt and adjusted his dagger, affronted her somehow.

 

“Are we done here, my Thane?” again she bit the air with each word.

 

They made eye contact; amber to blue, both holding the same look of unspoken dislike. Chipped tusks turned an ugly face hideous, and it only made her sneer openly when he gave a rare smirk.

 

He knew she must have been waiting in distaste the whole time, and for all she knew it was one of the reasons he just did what he did. That heavy brow of his was always turned down in tension, making him look enraged more than not, but it was cocked to one side in amusement now, brought on by her own agitation no doubt.

 

“Indeed,” was all he said in response, and onward she followed after her Thane once again, ready to face another trial of her own personal oblivion.

  
  
  


**Turdas, 1st day of Second Seed,**

 

Lydia continued staring even well after the sight before her had sunk in. Back at Whiterun, even before she'd met and been bound to her Thane, the guards had been a bustle of gossip right before she'd been called upon by her Jarl.

 

“The Dragonborn!”, they had exclaimed with great battle drunken slurs. Even then she'd been silent and opened eared at their talk and had, just as them, felt the excitement at the very idea. He'd slain a dragon, they'd said in great detail. They'd gone on about the final blow and the power behind a mere mortal, though they'd neglected to mention the fact that this Dragonborn had been an orc at the time. In her mind, she had envisioned a great Nord warrior with a heavy claymore risen above his golden-haired head. She had pictured green eyes and a cut jaw with a fearsome battle-grin. She’d pictured a God.

 

Now though? Well, even then that image had been shattered and she'd felt parts ashamed and

insulted at the sight of her Thane. But right now, at this very moment, she had witnessed first hand her Thane take nothing but a razor thin dagger and lodge such a thing into the eye of a real, scale and bone dragon.

 

The fresh sight of the legend Dragonborn, shucking his wrist to the side, plucking the offending eyeball from such a fearsome creature had done more than any handsome soldier had ever done for her affections, however, sudden and...profoundly unwanted they were. All of the dragon's foot long teeth, some jagged but most sharp enough to cut through the rays of the falling sun, were bared in an open-mouthed peel of rage. It was in pain, and dying, and with a howl of rage, enough to match that of the dragon beside him, she watched her Thane stab at the softer hide covering the dragon's neck. 

 

Blood flowed like an uncorked ale barrel. Gallons of the thick, iron smelling red covered him as a horrific sound squealed from the dragon as it's throat was thoroughly slit. A fountain of blood cut off the dragons hiss, and like anything else, it fell to its death.

 

Under her feet the ground still felt like it was shaking. As if under a spell she watched, transfixed like never before, as the gusts of colored, golden wind flowed from the fallen legend, arching in magnificent swirls like wisps on butterflies backs, only to grow thick and wormy as if sniveling their way into her Thane; through armor and bone, making his knees shake, teeth clench and breath come in heavy gushes.

 

She had a thought that it looked painful from where she was standing, but then, with great embarrassment, she realized the sensation he was feeling was quite the opposite of pain. It would explain why he’d only taken a woman the one time. If this was the sensations that begot killing a legend then the flesh of a mere woman would not even compare. 

 

She would not compare.

 

That night she had made their camp inside the ruins of some old Nord relic, it’s ten-foot tall stone pillars forming a broken circle with a sunken canopy at its center. Bushes of wildflowers, ivy and hanging moss spilled from and into its center. 

 

The moon’s light hung just above them and that, coupled with the fire pit she dug, made the camp the most beautiful she’d ever seen. It almost comforted her.

 

Her Thane did not appear as enchanted by its beauty as she, sat down on an old tree stump with an expression as sour as his mood. He would spit into the fire as the rabbit roasted, it’s moisture sizzling on the red hot charcoals. This normally would curl her lip in distaste, but after the early morning's events - watching him drink in the soul of that Dragon - she only found it drawing her eyes to his tusked mouth. 

 

It was not a sensual looking mouth, or pleasant, nor exotic as some Redguards lips were but it was dangerous. Perhaps that was its appeal.

 

Their map was being thumbed in his fingers - the dirt from the day was wedged under his nails. His lips would curl ever so often and beneath them, she could glimpse sharp teeth that glowed against the fire. The way her eyes constantly flittered back to him no matter how many times she curled her fingers into her palms and watched the flames was driving her near panicked. It was just the previous night that she had heard him pass gas and growl at her when she sneered at his crudeness. He was nothing as majestic as she desired in a man and yet he did not escape her attention at all that night.

 

Thankfully he did not notice.

 

When the rabbit was done, skin crispy and fat dribbling, she tried to watch him as he tore into the dead, burnt creature with savage hunger and beastly teeth. She tried to watch this and think him unappealing, but it did not work and she slept restlessly upon the pallet that night. She even plucked a sprig of lavender from nearby and teethed it until she finally found sleep, but her dreams were ripe with him and so vivid that when she awoke her small clothes were soaked with desire.

  
  


**Middas, 7th day of Second Seed,**

 

“What in Malacath’s bloody name is this?”

 

He growled in his throat when she did not think to reply so quickly, momentarily struck dumb by his response to her gesture. She had traveled with him long enough to know he was not dense, but for a second she questioned herself as he turned the wheat ring in his hand around as though he’d never seen the gesture before. Perhaps, she realized with sudden embarrassment, he hadn’t ever received one. It would not be so strange to think, despite him growing up in Skyrim away from the Holds, that he had not bothered to understand Nord traditions. 

 

“It is a symbolic gesture, my Thane. The wheat from the second harvest…it’s today.”

 

Golden eyes narrowed at the object in his hand and she finally felt foolish when he turned that scrutinizing gaze down at her. By Talos she did not know what to do. A woman of her training did not feel the urge to flee, nor bend their heads in defeat. Yet she wished to do both when his lip curled upwards in that horrific snarl of his. He could not know how hard it was for her to extend such a wish for peace after the dreams she’d been having, and her general distaste for him thus far. To be the first to concede, so to speak, was not something she found easy, even if he were her Thane.

 

“This one of those Nord traditions I don’t give a single piss for?”

 

It took her teeth, buried in her tongue to hold back a nasty retort, “It states that I am ready to rectify our differences, my Thane. So that we might be on friendlier terms.” She paused to see him grumble and lick his teeth, still staring at the object in his grip. She continued when he shot her a heavy glare, “You must admit we ha-”

 

“Enough, Lydia!” he snarled.

 

Her lips pressed together immediately and she could have sworn her heart missed several important beats at his sharp bellow. He’d used her name as well. He’d never done such a thing before. Behind her, she could feel the farmer and his son watching them now with tense expressions. Give her a sword and shield and there was little she couldn’t accomplish, but this - her Thane - was a thing she couldn’t fathom winning over.

 

Quickly he shoved the wheat ring against her chest, knuckles scraping along her breast plate with a bang. He turned to march down the weathered pathway as she was left to fumble with the wheat in the dirt. She hadn’t felt so embarrassed since she was a child giving flowers to the Battle-Born boy behind the drinking well. 

 

It went without saying she’d thought herself too old for such awkward feelings.

 

Despite her humiliation that evening she followed her Thane into the night, past bandit caves and through hives of clattering chaurus. All the while he remained silent aside from the occasional grunt or grumble when he made an attempt at reading the map under the inadequate light of the waning moons.

 

When she tried to light a torch for him he hissed. 

 

She lit it anyway just to spite him. 

 

As they traveled on by the flames light and the moons glow, that nasty mood of his rubbed off on her and when he stepped foot into a hot, wet hole on the border of the springs - cursing all the Gods he could recall, including Talos - she threw her lit torch down into the crabgrass, snapping at him while he squared his shoulders and gave it all back in full.

 

“What about your damnable peace offering, woman!?”

 

“Says the beast that declined such a generous act!”

 

They shouted and cursed until his fists were balled at his sides and he dared shoulder her into a hot pool, a mouthful of salty spring water flooding her hissing mouth. For a second she realized she was acting too much like him when her hand reached for her sword without a second thought.

 

He tread the water quickly, reaching her and yanking her up by the leather padding around her neck. Eyes like the base of a fire burned into her and it was only her training that kept her fist from flying into his face, let alone her palm to enclose her sword hilt.

 

“If I am such a burden to your delicate Nord upbringing you are free to turn tail anytime. I said as much the day I met you,” he sneered in her face, as her legs kicked the water, her cheeks itching with heat, both from anger and shame.

 

She was his to follow, no matter how much she could both hate and desire him. 

 

It must have been something in her gaze that he recognized for his lips lowered over his teeth and the crinkle under his eyes smoothed - brow lowering with a different kind of assessing look.

 

This new expression, if it were possible, unsettled her more than his anger did. She could feel his knuckles brushing against the front of her throat as he jerked her around and lowered her onto the warm slab of wet stone at the base of the shallow spring. Her Thane’s eyes flicked in a circle, scanning the darkness around before she heard a clasp pop open on her breastplate.

 

“My Thane…” she said in stupefaction as he jerked the leather strap fitting her steel plate at her waist. Heart still thundering from their verbal, near physical confrontation, she spent a long minute as he shucked off her chest plate, setting it to the side and going for the strings at her leather breeches before her hands started to weakly push at his thick, furious fingers.

 

Fumbling against him like a feeble barmaid he easily seized her wrists and stared deep into her eyes, strangely soft before breathing against her neck, “Admit you desire my seed and I will take it from here, woman. Don’t be so fucking ashamed for wanting it. I can see it, plain as day right now.”

 

His normally congested voice was smooth and ragged...less daedric and more heated. He was no simpleton, she knew that but how could he have known when she herself hadn’t fully realized the desire until all too recently. Even her own body still thought the arousal was anger induced, but she knew it was lust that made her shake under his steady gaze now. Perhaps he’d watched her in the throes of unsteady sleep, or how unhappy she was when a woman got too friendly. It could have been neither or all...she didn’t really want to know in the end.

 

And no, she did not want his seed. Perhaps she would take his cock, and as he would crudely refer to it, a good rutting, but that was all. There was no way she was truly attracted to him in any other way than the basest variety.

 

So she said not a word and reached for the buckle at his waist.

 

He was not gentle, this she had expected. When he left her breeches to float in the pool around his knees, spread her thighs wide and filled her in one long thrust, she was reminded of the dim sound that barmaid had made - the banging of the headboard on the wall that had reverberated in her ears long after he’d been finished.

 

The first few deep, languid thrusts were painful - his cock thicker than any Nord’s she’d had in the past - but when his large hands grasped her hips and pulled her rear to slap against his thighs she gasped at the sharp sensation. It was good. She’d thought it would be even better if she closed her eyes and pictured the green-eyed, blonde Nord she’d envisioned him to have been at first, but it dimmed the sharp pleasure his rutting gave her. So she held onto the smooth edge of the stone and stared up at him while she pushed against his faulty but pleasurable rhythm.

 

By Talos it was so good. He was good.

 

“You take my cock like it disgusts you,” he groaned, slipping from her stretched flesh and sneering as he un-twined the knots of her tunic, face to face with her as if to repulse her with his visage. It did not work. Had not worked for awhile.

 

“You should disgust me,” she retorted, helping him remove the scratchy material and shoving her breast binding down over her ribs. Her body trembled when he brought his tusked mouth to her mounds, tasting the hardened peaks with a hot, flat tongue that left her feeling sweaty and feverish. The heat from his body and the spring coupled with the cold of the air created a glorious contrast of sensations, but it was his teeth on her breast that oddly enough made her swoon - legs wrapping around his hips, urging him back inside her. Pleading with her body for him to join her once again.

 

“Not afraid of me puncturing these sweet teats either?” he rasped, a tusk nudging her ribs.

 

This was madness.

 

He cupped her bare bottom, pressed her flush against him and took her from the edge where the chill ate at her flesh. A hot slab of stone greeted her back but she was flipped over, legs pulled apart and settled upon her knees. 

 

“No,” she jerked up, bent to turn around but his lips found her neck and the threat of his still sharp tusks poking a hole in her neck as his knife had that dragon stopped her dead against his chest. The subtle grip of fear made her insides clench around nothing.

 

“Yes.” He told her - hands skimming down her sides and pressing against the front of her thighs.

 

He molded her back on her knees, her breasts grazing the smooth slick rock as his teeth left raised red lines down her back.

 

Her brothers would disown her if they knew she was submitting like a bitch would to a hound, no matter if he was the fabled Dragonborn or not. And yet that did not stop her from meeting him more than halfway when he pressed the head of his cock back at her slick opening. It was easier this time. He filled her completely and even though he set a punishing rhythm, she met him for every sweet thrust he gave. It was debauchery, and it felt better than any man that she’d lain with before.

 

“This is my peace offering,” he breathed, petting her back and rear in a manner fit for lovemaking rather than pure fucking, but it felt so good she couldn’t focus on its strangeness. It was the throb - the shooting pleasure that gut her every time he bottomed out. It was the filed claws on his fingers that dug into her pale flesh and the open-mouthed kisses with chaffing tusks and teeth that she focused on. Crickets buzzed in the trees and the cold brought gooseflesh to the surface of her skin, but he was all heat and passionate frenzy.

 

She came when he braced a large palm on the rock beside her neck, bending low and covering her in muscled, hot flesh. The angle of his rutting changed and a spot inside her flooded with pleasure. It scared her enough that she jerked away from him, or tried to at least. He had her trapped between his hips and planted arm.

 

“Something your Nord bastards couldn’t find?” there was a strained amusement in his voice as he nipped at her neck, gasping down the side of her face like a man that had just fought a war. “So civilized…” he mocked, fucking into her slow and strong.

 

He kept her locked in place by his mass when she panicked at the sensation. It was a pleasure unlike anything before; sharp and acute...lower and so powerful. It tightened and released in an instant, flooding her pelvis with waves of heat and euphoria.

 

“Yes,” she whimpered, arching into his chest, bending her neck for him to suckle there and worry the flesh with unnatural teeth, “Yes, my Thane..” she was going mad, “your seed, now…” his teeth sunk into her shoulder, shallow but painful and she withheld a scream with her teeth in her lip. Nothing mattered but the pleasure.

 

“By Talos…” she gasped, tasting blood as she rode the stream of pleasure and pain while his teeth took hold and his hips drove deep and hard, jerking her smaller body to and fro in his own frantic will to finish. 

 

And he did. 

 

When her Thane came to his teeth clenched tighter within her flesh and a heat swam deep inside - the feeling of his seed, she realized. It was over quicker than she would have liked. Not for the fact that she did not meet her own culmination, for she did and it was better than she dared to voice, but now that she knew the feeling he could give, she was greedy for more.

 

“You Nord women will be my undoing. Forget the bloody Dragons…”

 

Later when their clothes were laid out by the fire, safely guarded by the recess of a shallow cave, he slathered a tingling paste at the wound on her shoulder with indifference, watching it dry before putting a palm over the wound with the flush of a weak healing scroll he recited awkwardly.

 

Neither of them knew magic, but he could read as well as any and while she’d insisted the scroll could be used for a true emergency, he had insisted she shut her mouth so he could do as he pleased.

 

They spent that night in silence, taking turns on watch long after the sun had come up. Once on the road again the tension between them was less the burning fire it had been and more like the low burning coals they had left at the camp that morning. 

 

She supposed it was progress.

  
  


**Sundas, 18th day of Second Seed,**

 

It did not take long before they found something trivial to argue over once again. They had stayed two days in the city of Windhelm, a night and day before that when she’d stood aside for her Thane to slay ice wraiths in the morning sun. He had asked her if she wished to rut with him, while his blood had been up and a cut bled freely on his neck from teeth so cold the blood ran like sludge down his open tunic. His open question had infuriated her, especially when he had not acknowledged their tryst at the springs in the times since.

 

She’d refused and he’d pulled open his breeches and stroked himself before her, threatening to catch her off guard in the night - to give her that pleasure he knew he’d been the first to give. He’d taken himself in hand with no shame and spilled his seed upon the ground while telling her how he’d always wondered what a Nord’s snatch tasted like.

 

It had at once enraged her and set her insides aflame for him. 

 

The past two days she could think of nothing but his mouth between her thighs - the threat of his sharp teeth and broken tusks. His hot tongue would feel unlike anything else she told herself, but it was not something she would voice, let alone ask him after being so prudent when he’d all but begged for her to let him have her again.

 

He had not, as he’d threatened, captured her in the night either. And on the first night, she had felt a strange mix of relief and disappointment, the second night she had tried to find her own release but to no avail. The attempt only left her sweaty and frustrated on her furs.

 

Her sour mood today was thanks to the failure of last night.

 

“You look hungry, woman. I know of something you can feast on.”

 

He said such in the hall of Ulfric Stormcloak, as the seasoned Nord spoke with the legendary Galmar Stone-Fist not more than a short fifty feet away. It was not said in a whisper either and she saw the subtle movement of the helmeted guards nearby. They had heard and she was mortified, or at least she should have been.

 

“No woman has ever sucked upon my cock like a babe to a mother’s teat, but I would guess it’s enjoyable.” As he spoke she noticed the distance between them had shortened and the guards had gone painfully still around them. “Perhaps if I shoved my tongue within your cunt you’d show me how good you can use that mouth of yours. Witty enough and sharp with your words, I bet you could make my toes curl.”

 

He stopped only when Jarl Ulfric met with him once more. Whatever they discussed she did not hear. Her heart was much too busy beating wildly in her ears. The red within her cheeks was so severe that the Jarl even commented on it, suggesting a temple not far away that could cure whatever sickness she might have had.

 

Her Thane had laughed loudly at that, leaving both Nord men with stern yet confused looks upon their faces. A guard on their way out snickered like a child and Lydia had finally had enough. She told him as much outside the doors but he merely snorted and walked down the stone steps, expecting her to follow, which she did.

 

In the evening they fled to the Candlehearth Hall, an inn she was already growing tired off. Her Thane had shaken off the snow with a grumble, all of the previous japing humor lost thanks to the frigid night and her furious verbal assault upon his lack of propriety. Inside it was warm though and the air smelt of honeyed mead - it was not something she could scoff at.

 

Minutes later they had horns of mead and bowls of thick venison stew with a little center plate of dried figs and nuts. It was not a terrible dinner in the least. She enjoyed it, even falling into a rare conversation about the upcoming journey to High Hrothgar once her Thane had admitted he was perhaps too loud in his jesting with her. It was the closest to an apology she would receive so she accepted it and moved on.

 

“Many steps,” he said, sneering into his horn.

 

“The monks are legendary. It’s well known they trained Jarl Ulfric in the voice as well.”

 

“It is said my sire-name can be traced all the way back to Malacath’s eldest son himself, I do not need such a trivial trait to bring down dragons.”

 

As much as she wanted to disagree she couldn’t. 

 

She’d seen him use his voice only once and it was in anger, not in need while battling...not even against a damned dragon as he had said. So she went silent, finished her horn of mead and ate her stew while he marked off locations on their map, grumbling only when a buxom barmaid came to refill his horn. She did not, at the time, see the look the woman had given him.

 

The bath her Thane had bought for her was enjoyable. She soaked longer than she ought to have. White hot coals under the iron making all her muscles lax and her skin pink. Wide wicked candles cast a golden glow, reflecting off the water and a pleasant odor of lavender and nightshade calmed her erratic mind. It was a pleasure and she savored it for as along as her pruning skin would allow. Eventually, she dressed in a clean tunic and soft cotton breeches before finding her Thane at the bar with a blonde wench on his arm.

 

For a second all her previous anger came back in spades. As if the veins in her eyes had swallowed up all the blood in her body it tinted her vision red. He was not hers, though, she chastised herself quickly. Knowing he had declared no oath to her, nor had they continued their affair, it still made her sick with jealousy to see the barmaid, a lowly serving wench petting the exposed bicep of her Thane as if he were some dog to be praised.

 

She did not see the way he shook her off with a grumble, all she saw was the way the wench leaned upwards to whisper words into his ear. The dark amber of his eyes widened for a fraction before narrowing. Once again he shook her off and mouthed words Lydia could not hear. The barmaid skulked off...yet the sensation in her own gut remained. What little relief she felt was swallowed by her mixed emotions. He was not something she ought to desire so.

 

She caught his gaze over the hearth before heading to her room; more like fleeing she thought. Unsure of how she should deal with the conflicting feelings within, she shut her door behind her, fingers hesitating on her lock before leaving it be.

 

Her sleep did not come easy that night, waiting up for him to come through her door as he’d threatened nearly a week ago. When he did not come, even after the noise in the hall quieted, she rose, locked her door and fell asleep with an unwelcomed desire for his body beside her own.

  
  


**Morndas, 19th day of Second Seed,**

 

She awoke with pleasure swimming up her belly. A foggy sensation of hands running down her naked sides. In the dark she stretched and moaned loudly, too inebriation by sleep still to think a soul could hear her through the walls. A slickness coaxed another gasp from her lips. Sharp teeth at her inner thigh and a thick intrusion inside her woke her enough to realize a head was between her legs and heavy male gasping filled her ears.

 

“What are you doing…” she whispered, moaning once again when her Thane’s finger curled, pressing to that spot within her only he had ever found. The sensation brought a gleam of tears to her eyes. This is what she had been missing all these nights.

 

For a moment his tongue withdrew and she reached down to find his loose hair and brow, “Don’t stop, please...my Thane.”

 

“Say my name and I’ll feast on your cunt until the sun rises. Say it.” His moist breath only made her nub throb and inside his finger didn’t move, teasing her with its presence.

 

“Mourrgahk…” his name was so foreign on her tongue, but his own returned to her flesh with renewed thirst, lapping at her like a hound. She could feel her toes curl as his thick finger curled and stroked within. His tusks grazed her inner thighs and his teeth would drag along her mound, but it was all so sweet.

 

“Taste like honey and salt,” he growled against her slippery folds. Again she moaned loud enough to worry, but she didn’t; didn’t care. Her back arched as his hand traced a warm path along her stomach, scratched with short nails down her ribs and crept back up to fondle a breast under her loose tunic. 

 

She tugged and stroked through the hair at his head, thumbing a sharp thorn on his brow that twitched as he suckled upon her. Feasting on her, that’s what it felt like. And though she could feel her little death approach it was not as frightening as before. Anticipation built instead of fear, making the culmination sweeter as her cries grew deafening. Behind her own sounds, she could hear him grunting and growling, licking and sucking at her with sloppy sounds that would have shamed her had it not felt so good. When her body erupted in pleasure she screamed soundlessly, tensing and jerking her hips against his feasting mouth, thrusting herself upon his bent finger. 

 

What tension in her the bath did not release, his mouth had taken care of. She felt boneless and wonderfully clammy in the warm room. His finger had slid free but his mouth still caressed her gently, something that would have shocked her had she been capable of thought.

 

“You screamed like a knife was in your belly,” he rumbled.

 

When she opened her eyes his cock was but inches from her lips, swollen and angry looking in the pale light streaming in from the window panes. She didn’t spare a thought about leaning up upon her elbows to give the moist tip a long lick, tasting the salty tang of his seed.

 

For once in her life, she felt rebellious. 

 

With a wicked smirk, she guided him by the hip to lay back where she’d been. He had, for a moment, looked vulnerable and submissive before his thick fingers threaded through her hair to bring her down to his lap. She went willingly, encasing his cock head with her lips and suckling long enough to hear a wheeze leave him.

Her fingers traced wetly down to the root of him before grasping tight enough to pull a rattling breath out of his lungs. She caressed his length, hollowing her cheeks around half of him before letting her tongue swirl his tip. Her Thane, Mourrgahk, grew steadily more vocal as she placed as much worship upon him as he’d done to her.

 

As she suckled upon him, stroking his base and squeezing in tune with his ragged breaths, she thought back to those guards that had heard his little speech that evening. She wondered what they would say if they could see her now...or what looks Jarl Ulfric and his Second would wear if they knew. What would her brothers say, or even the patrons in the inn? The thought of their slack jawed expressions or the woman's jealous glares set her blood on fire.

 

With a slick sound she released his cock, gave it a kiss and ran a slick finger down beneath his rear, she gave his cock another open mouthed kiss as he tensed, finally realizing what she was about to do...or knowing where she was headed at least. He jerked away, growled and gripped her hair painfully.

 

“What do you think ‘you’re’ doing?” his voice was rough and dizzy sounding, but no less authoritative. 

 

“You found that spot inside of me my Thane,” she whispered. He growled and she spoke his name, licked the bead of moisture that had seeped from his tip with a small smile, “now let me find yours.”

 

By Talos she’d never felt so powerful before when he gave a heavy sigh, running fingers through her hair and cupping the back of her head to bring her lips back to his flesh. 

 

Her finger slowly pressed further between his rear, her lips skimming his cock and sucking upon his head when he would flinch. When she reached her goal she slowly slid her finger inside, careful to pay special attention to the knot at the underside of his engorged cock, tongue it as she pushed the pad of her finger upon that tight spot inside him and rubbed.

 

“Malacath’s cock….bloody fucking Oblivion-by the-”

 

He jerked, gripped a handful of her hair and growled so loudly she could feel the vibrations within her mouth. Mourrgahk came with a shaken sigh, sounding much like she herself had pressed a knife into his belly. The taste hit the back of her throat and for a moment she gagged, but the taste was not so bad and the heat of it as she swallowed warmed her.

 

He slept in her bed that night and she didn’t hear him snore the once, even when she went to lay beside him.

  
  


**Loredas, 21st day of Mid Year,**

 

It wasn’t until days after descending the Throat of the World, on their way back to Whiterun that she saw her first glimpse of what Mourrgahk was fully capable of. It was an ambush of bandits, orcs, redguards and nords alike. All filthy and vicious. She’d counted them all and felt sweat at the back of her neck. 

 

It was on the third one she cut down that something sent her stumbling into a shallow creek, the stone digging into her spine. Prickling heat swam down her arm and chest. She’d been hit with an arrow. It’s fletching made from sparrow feathers and shaft a dull red color. Seeing it brought the full brunt of the pain and when she moved to sit up she realized it was stuck in her chest, not a shoulder...but between her breasts. 

 

When she breathed blood filled her mouth. This was how she died, she thought.

 

Then she heard his voice, a garbled collection of words and then fire. Screams pierced her ears and in the distance, behind blurry vision she could see men set aflame, and running, running until they collapsed in a heat of licking fire. Dead. And she wasn’t far behind them.

 

She did not feel his hands when Mourrgahk plucked her from the stream, just found that he was looking down at her with a pinched, thorny brow and something shiny in his eyes.

 

It was like being asleep, more than she thought it would be. Never before had she been on the cusp of death, but she’d always thought it would have been more epic...or at the least noteworthy. Instead, she woke up in a soft cotton-filled bed with her breasts bound in soft cloth. A pouch of herbs was stuff over her wound. When she sat up there was a loud grumble from the corner. 

 

Her Thane sat in a chair in the corner, a book in his lap and eyes heavy on her sitting form. She tried not to smile but felt her lips stretch anyhow.

 

“I suppose I owe you a debt of thanks,” she whispered - throat so dry she nearly coughed.

 

“You’re already bound to me. The priest said you’d died.”

 

She frowned at that, feeling no different aside from a dull ache between her breasts. 

 

“I am alive now, anyhow.”

 

At that, she saw him nodding, a strange glimmer in his eyes. He looked...concerned. She was quite alright now. Though death had been close, it was something she had grown up accepting would eventually happen. There was always a possibility she would die young, as happened often with warriors.

 

“Imperial bitch wouldn’t remove the broadhead...it appears you have a trophy now.”

 

That unnerved her. She gulped and pressed a delicate hand to her chest, fingering the covered pouch of sweet smelling herbs and imagining the arrow head healed within her chest, forever there.

 

With a steady breath, she unraveled the cloth from her breasts, baring them before him and gently pulling away the herbs stuck to her with some caustic smelling paste. She heard his exhale and the squeak of wood as he shifted in the chair. It was merely a dimple of a scar. Nothing as glorious as she wanted from such a deadly wound.

 

“I need a mead.”

 

He nodded, rose from his seat and came to her. He braced strong arms on either side of her and she fell back as his breath fell against her small scar. Gentle, hot swipes of his tongue landed along the slopes of her breasts, teasing her nipples gently, making her sigh and moan. It was not hurried. Her Thane did not ravage her as he had many times. It was not hurried fucking against a tree or a quick lapping in the night. He roused her with tender suckles on her breasts and eventually a slow play of fingers and tongue between her thighs. 

 

Weakly, she fisted the sheets, kept her breathing shallow and came with a shake and a sigh. One final lick to her center and he left her to a heavy sleep.

  
  


**Tirdas, 24th of the Mid Year,**

 

It had been three days since he’d left her in Whiterun with no note or no word given to any other. She walked around the Hold aimlessly the first day, simmered with rage at his home the next and upended his small library and collection of skulls the next. Today she found herself putting his books back and mulling over the broken bone and dust she’d destroyed. 

 

In town, when she went to the market to buy enough meat for a stew, she heard the guards mention him. Her Thane was heading to a nordic ruin, where they did not say, but that he was to find the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller. She knew of it, studied books and her ancient lore as a child under the strict guidance of her Father. It was a fool's errand she had thought in the market, but later, while she cooked dinner she felt the ache in her chest.

 

Lying to herself, she said it was but the arrowhead still embedded within.

  
  


**Middas, 11th of the Last Seed,**

 

He was back and she waited in his home, with stew ready, sitting down in a chair by the hearth with her hands in her lap. She’d seen him for just a moment ascending the steps to Dragonsreach. Initially, she had taken a step forwards, ready to run him down, possibly punch him, eager for a fight as she’d wanted for over a month. But she had watched him disappear and fled herself.

 

She had heard of his journey through any and everyone in the passing season. One week he was meeting with the Blades, then befriending thieves in Riften, battling the World Eater with the help of a dragon. She’d heard of smaller things here and there, deeds he’d done and places he’d visited. One group had called her Thane a perverse monster, taking barmaids and peasant girls whenever they got too close. Those gossips made her as sick as the ones that involved his harm. Each day she cursed herself for caring and each night she wished for his return. Without him her place was here, but every day she hoped to deduce his location so she might have been there to help him...to just be there.

 

It was a sickness, feeling such a thing for him, but there was no undoing it now that it had been done. She loved him perhaps, but he’d left her alone in his home with a pouch of septims on the table and then nothing. There had been no letters though she knew he could write as well as her.

 

She had been staring at the coals intently when the door opened and he was there. He was filthy, and one of his eyes was white, that side of his face covered in a pattern of jagged pink scars. To go to him, to comfort him and take his damaged face in her palms was strong, but he grasped the arms of the chair and dared herself not to move an inch.

 

The heavy satchel draped over his shoulder fell to the floor, by the sound it must have been filled iron and steel.

 

“You’re still here…” it was said so low she couldn’t discern his tone.

 

Her will was weakened, she realized as she stood and took four wide steps to him. Her fists flew against his chest where he snarled and captured her arms in a tight grip.

 

“Is this your greeting, woman?! You wish to maul me into fucking you or cracking your tiny skull?” His words were cruel and she kicked his armored shin until he roared and wrapped an arm around her waist, hauling her against him and stomping over the burning coal to the table in the kitchen. She was not as weak as he’d thought. Strong enough to have been by his side through all this. She was bound to him, and not only by oath. He had to have known that, but he didn’t, so she clawed and elbowed, punched and kicked at him as he wrestled with her agile limbs.

 

Her knees jabbed into his stomach and sent him on his back, knocking over barrels of root vegetables as he howled, too slow to get up. She was on top of him, trying with all her dwindling strength to pin him down, but he was too strong. He’d pry her grip off him, throw her along the floor and drag her back by the leg only for her to kick him in the chin and spring to her feet, knocking over a chair when he stood near foaming at the mouth.

 

“Come here already so I can fuck you.”

 

She spit blood on the floor from a bite to her own tongue when he’d thrown her off him the second time. “Haven’t you done enough fucking?” she sneered, much like he would and took a step back when he approached. 

 

“I did fine without a wet cunt until I met you, and I did fine without it while I was gone. Don’t be petty with me.”

 

She was too drunk on the gossip, too hurt over being left behind. It wounded her pride as a warrior and a woman.

 

“You left me,” she accused, watching his large chest heaving with each breath.

 

“A mistake that was, I can see. You’re healed enough to bruises my bloody ribs.” A feral grin stretched his lips, showing bloody teeth from where she must have gotten in a good punch. Her knuckles throbbed but the anger was still raw.

 

“I’m starving for you sweetness, woman. Let me have a taste.”

 

She paused as he took a step forwards, his shoulders were raised and she could see the veins throbbing under his pallid flesh. When he got within arms reach of her she bounded up the stairs not looking back. She could escape out the window, rush back through the door and catch him by surprise. It would be a dirty trick, but she was suddenly lusty for a fight. By Talos, she missed this. Fighting - it was in her blood. His thundering steps were close behind and when she slid trying to turn at the base of the stairs he smacked a hand in the hem of her tunic, ripping the threads and knocking her on her knees. 

 

“You set my blood on fire,” she heard him gasp - so much lust in his voice she felt a pang of pleasure between her thighs, long before he struggled to rip her breeches down over her rear to get at the dipping flesh he had longed for.

 

Keening like a wounded animal she struggled, kicked back at him and tried to stand and run, but her breeches had fallen to her knees and tripped her back on the wooden floor. He was again upon her, but this time, she felt his bare cock, hard upon the side of her rear. 

 

Teeth snapped at her ear and she kicked an elbow back, only to have him snake an arm under her breasts, trapping her limp against him. The other arm was useless, she fell with her cheek to the floor when she tried to swat at him. He chuckled, breathy and crazed just before she felt his cock breach her, thrust so deep she screamed.

 

“Fuck,” she heard him hiss, immediately starting to rut her as though she'd soon disappear from his grip. It was like molten gold - the slippery friction, so hot and burning. It had been so long. She squirmed under him, freeing an arm that she used to grip the banister, bracing herself as he lifted up from her back to grasp both lobes of her rear, spreading her….no doubt watching himself sink inside her to the hilt. The slap of his flesh against hers, the slick sounds of her wetness, his gulping breaths and grunts were like music. She held nothing in, moaning and screaming as he molded her body into his, plucking her body up to somehow find more space within her to fill. The second floor shook under her as he took her, not caring if the floor fell out from under them in this moment. 

 

She came suddenly, feeling his motions falter when her insides clenched around his flesh, but he did not stop. She came once, twice more before he latched his teeth to her shoulder and spilled his seed within, finding the deepest spot inside her and staying there until his heavy grunting ended and she could feel his excess dripping to the floor between them. 

 

She gasped for breath, hearing him gulp down lungfuls of air as well. 

 

“Lydia…” he chanted as his tongue cleansed the wound at her shoulder, a thing he’d done so many times now she merely closed her eyes as the dull pain blended with the ache of pleasure between her legs. 

 

She slept with him that night after they ate, talking for long hours until he collapsed into bed with her rolled onto his side, both naked as the day they'd been born.

 

In the morning he might be gone again, and it was a fact she begrudgingly accepted as her fingers traced the hard olive-toned muscles, scattered in a layer of dark hair. She even caressed his flaccid cock, teasing it while he slept until she could not keep her eyes open any longer. This was her burden to bear - to lust after her Thane and suffer the end results. Whether that be ravaged on the landing or left alone by some strange care he seemed to harbor for her. 

  
It mattered not, though. In the morning she'd be ready to embark after him yet again. She'd not let him leave her behind this time, nor any other. 

**Author's Note:**

> Originally did this for the Skyrim Kink Meme a while back but never finished it. Hope someone enjoys Orsimer as much as I do.
> 
> Tumblr ----> http://brimbrimbrimbrim.tumblr.com/


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